‘Count Onikil, where is Rodrik Varl?’
‘Inside the castle, my lady. He asked me to bring you to him when you arrived.’
‘And Ravel? What happened to him?’
The count’s lips twisted. ‘Hmm, perhaps, my lady, you should see that for yourself.’
‘No riddles, Onikil. . is he dead or does he live?’
‘Oh, he’s quite dead, dear Queen.’ Onikil put out his hands. ‘Please, let me show you.’
There was a gaggle of eager men to look after her horse. Jazana handed the gelding off to them and followed Onikil through the broken outer gates of the castle and into its courtyard, which was larger than she expected and filled with milling mercenaries. On the east side of the yard Liirian soldiers sat in chains, the last holdouts who had surrendered after the death of Colonel Bern. Onikil gave a count of the captured troops, numbering them at forty-three and telling her that they were already being interrogated.
‘The ones that fled are on their way to Koth, apparently,’ said the Rolgan. ‘To fight at the library, perhaps.’
It was not unexpected news, yet Jazana Carr winced. Like the now-dead Lord Dugald, she hadn’t expected the Liirians to remain loyal to their shattered country. As she passed the prisoners they eyed her with awe and hatred. Jazana looked away, preferring the sight of Onikil’s back to the cold stares. She was not apathetic. Those willing to join her mercenary army would be given good pay and respectful treatment. Those who refused. . well, that was a decision for tomorrow.
‘Where’s Rodrik, Onikil?’ asked Jazana anxiously. She had expected to find him in the yard, but Onikil was leading her deeper toward the keep.
‘Up in Baron Ravel’s chamber, actually,’ replied the count with a little laugh.
He was vexing, but Jazana decided not to press him. Apparently, Rodrik had his reasons for bringing her to the baron’s chambers, and her curiosity spurred her on. They entered the keep — which like the courtyard was filled with Norvans now — and passed some of Ravel’s servants along the way. They were a harmless-looking group, mostly women and old men, and all of them bowed and hid their faces when they noticed the Diamond Queen, dropping to their knees and almost quaking with fright. Embarrassed, Jazana barked at them to rise and get on about their business, for the castle looked dishevelled now with all her men traipsing about, and there were many, hungry mouths to feed now that the castle was hers.
‘I’m the new lady of the house,’ she told an elderly maid locked in a curtsy before her. ‘Forget your old employer and remember my face.’
The old woman nodded rapidly then scurried away. Onikil guided Jazana Carr out of the area toward the stairs, a grand spiral of steps. Eager to be away from the Liirians, Jazana took the lead and hurried up the stairs with Onikil close behind. The count told her to go to the top, which was a good distance and had the queen quite tired by the time she reached it, and entered into a gilded hall that she somehow knew was Ravel’s private chambers. Here she found men she recognised, those mercenaries that were close to Rodrik Varl and had been in her employ for years. There were others with them as well — beautiful, well-dressed women that surprised Jazana when she saw them. All were young, pretty things with smooth skin and bright eyes, eyes that turned on Jazana Carr with dread as she approached. The women shrank away and Jazana leaned toward Onikil.
‘Who are they?’ she asked.
‘Ravel’s concubines, my lady,’ replied Onikil. He watched the women with admiration. A playful smile curled his mouth. ‘We weren’t sure what to do with them, you see. With Ravel gone, they have nowhere to go. Normally. .’
‘Normally you would have made slaves of them and taken them to your bed, Count Onikil. But since I’m queen now you can’t do that.’
Onikil grinned. ‘Just so, my lady.’
‘Disgusting. Great Fate, where’s that bloody Rodrik Varl?’
‘Here,’ came a voice from across the hall. From behind a grand and open door of carved oak stepped Varl. He wore no beret, and his red hair was matted with sweat and filth.
Jazana left Count Onikil at once and went to her bodyguard. Reaching out for him, she touched his face and smiled in relief.
‘I should be angry with you,’ she said. ‘I’m not.’
The weight of exhaustion on his face seemed unbearable. He took her hand and kissed it. ‘I’m glad you’re well,’ he said with affection.
She squeezed his hand, grateful to be with him again.
‘Why did you bring me up here, Rodrik? Where’s Ravel?’
‘In here,’ said Varl. He stepped aside so that she could enter the plush chamber, and when she did she saw another girl-woman. This one had blonde hair and was younger than the rest, seated in one of Ravel’s expensive chairs with her eyes fixed on the elaborate carpet. She kept her hands clasped dutifully in her lap, not even bothering to acknowledge the queen’s entrance. Jazana was not offended by the girl’s silence; she supposed something awful had happened to her.
‘One of Ravel’s?’ she whispered.
Varl nodded. Beside the three of them, there was no one else in the room. ‘Her name is Simah. She’s a slave, or was. She says that Ravel freed her before he died.’
‘Should I suppose that Ravel is in here somewhere?’
‘This way.’
Leaving Simah alone in the chamber, Varl led Jazana to an adjoining room, this one trimmed with marble and lit by dozens of candles. The scent of lilacs filled the air, and rose-water jugs lined the walls and polished floor. It was a bath chamber, and in the centre of the room was an enormous sunken tub, large enough even for a man of Baron Ravel’s giant size. Ravel himself was in the bath water, which was tepid now and turned an unusual rust colour. The baron’s head hung backwards at a grotesque angle, his eyes open and gaping at the ceiling. He was naked in the tub, but Jazana could barely see him in the opaque water. What she could see was the odd, upturned angle of one of his wrists, resting on the side of the tub, a great gash sliced through it that had long ago stopped oozing blood. A dagger rested on the floor nearby. The other wrist, similarly slashed, rested just beneath the water.
‘What an unholy sight,’ whispered Jazana as she inched toward the tub. She knelt down to inspect Ravel’s lifeless face. He looked miserable, as if his last hours had been unbearable. She even pitied him. ‘It’s not easy for a man to be bested by a woman,’ she said softly.
She picked up the soiled dagger and shook it in the bloodied water to clean its silver shaft. Then she stood and went back to where Varl waited for her. His face was tight, as if he too pitied Ravel and blamed her for what had happened to him.
‘Bite back whatever you’re thinking,’ she warned. ‘I don’t want to hear it right now.’
Passing him, she returned to the main chamber where Simah the slave sat. There she dropped down onto one knee before the girl, forcibly took her hand and slapped the dagger into her palm.
‘This,’ she declared, ‘is yours now.’
Simah looked up. Her haunted eyes gazed into Jazana’s own. ‘My family doesn’t want me,’ she said. Then, ‘I have nowhere to go.’
‘You’re free now,’ said Jazana. ‘Don’t make the mistake of thinking that Baron Ravel freed you. That was my doing, child. Ravel may have made a whore of you but I have given you back your womanhood. Now, take that dagger and keep it with you always. Use it to remember how strong you are.’
Simah nodded as understanding slowly dawned. ‘What about the others? Will we be safe here in the city?’
‘You don’t need Ravel to protect you any more. This city belongs to me now.’ Jazana Carr stood. ‘Rise,’ she commanded. Simah did so. ‘Stay in the castle until you’re ready to leave. No one will harm you. You’ll be given new clothes to wear, whatever you need.’